BEVERLY HILLS CHIHUAHUA (2008): A MOVIE REVIEW

Rachel lets Chloe say "Good-bye" to Aunt Viv.

This is a rather failed effort at producing a canine comedy of manners blended with an adventure/kidnap/chase flick. Naturally, the “thinking” and personalties of the dog characters are indistinguishable from that of humans. The entirety of the scenes at the outset of the movie represented a characature of the New Money crowd, which is rendered by the humans and echoed by their pooches. Every element of the film is stale. Nevertheless, one may find something humorous along the way. It is directed by Raja Gosnell.

STORYLINE:   While rich patron schmoozed in Europe, her pampered Chihuahua pet went on a “south of the border” trip with her “Mom pro tempore.” The “fun-run” became a nightmare when pooch Chloe was kidnapped by shady hombres operating a dogfight business. A “down-on-his-luck” Rin Tin Tin lookalike proved to be Chloe’s wonder dog. He was not the only one, as the Chuhuahua, Papi, a not-so-secret admirer of Chloe, had joined his master, the young landscaper, Pedro, in a separate rescue effort. Pedro and Rachel joined forces in the chase. Love, danger, and a menagerie mixed it up, as they all converged on Chloe. Guess what? Mom returned from Europe, embraced her “baby” and suddenly discovered a new perfume line for her business. It’s sort of earthy, doncha know?

COMMENTARY:     As her wealthy owner-”Mom” prepared for a business trip in Europe to promote her company’s new cosmetic line, she consigned her “little treasure” to the care of her niece, Rachel (Perabo), who wasn’t overjoyed at the burden but who knew who controlled the big bucks. The little treasure has the name Chloe, and she was a Chihuahua diva of Rodeo Drive. The pampered pooch has a set of canine “beautiful people” pals, affording all who noticed them the opportunity to consider the vacuity of folks unable to, or unwilling to, utilize excess wealth for the general good. Tellingly, Aunt Viv (Curtis) has made her big bucks in cosmetics, where she assisted “stinking people” to hide their “crimes” from the nose of the World Community.

Yet, the little Eden of Aunt Viv and Chloe is not entirely posh. There are hired people there to play the valet, landscaper, and the like. The landscaper, Pedro, is young, assured, and confident in his professional abilities. However, he is usually referenced as “gardener.” As an attraction can be detected between Pedro and Rachel, Aunt Viv’s niece, as the film progressed, there is an element of Lady Chatterly’s Lover hinted at but not developed.

This film is like that. Thematic snippets from other films were introduced suddenly then allowed to quickly fade away, as the body of the action plowed through it, episode after episode plodding toward the film’s appointed climax. Can you say, “Walkies!”

All of this is preparation for a “consciousness-raising” experience by Chloe. The little white canine Chihuahua experienced an abrupt alteration of her surroundings, forcing her to rely on the kindnesses of stray dogs ( rat & iguana, too). Further, though  these were mostly “right on” dogs, not every dog wagged an honest tail.

How did this come about? Rachel took her “ward for the week” on a fun weekend in Mexico, and Chloe got nabbed by shady hombres in the dog-fighting racket. Now Chloe, still mostly dressed like “Bride of Chuckie in Vegas,” found herself in a dirty underground chamber filled with big, rough-looking dogs. Naturally, she got teased a bit. In a cage nearby lurked a big German Shepherd with an ominously deep, yet world-weary voice. It’s Delgado (Garcia). He put her down, too, but you correctly got the feeling he’s going to be her guardian bowzer. The king of the fighting dogs was El Diablo, a mean-looking Doberman. Every experienced moviegoer expected that Delgado and El Diablo must have a tousle at or near the climax of the film. As the story progressed, Delgado was revealed to be a former canine cop, who had had issues with El Diablo from the old days.

Promptly, Chloe was released into the pit that was walled and overlooked by a crowd of dog-fight enthusiasts. She was hooted at, as she was dressed like a slightly soiled, Vegas showgirl. Across from her was the dark, menacing El Diablo. By now, Delgado, emoting like a reluctant William Holden-character, has, with a “I-could-kick-myself” attitude, set forth to rescue the “fair damsel.” He did, in fact, save Chloe from El Diablo by briefly opening the escape gate, allowing her slip out, and then closing it on El Diablo before he could enter.

There followed a Spartacus homage, as the canine exodus by all the “gladiator” dogs penned in the chamber beneath the fight facility occurred pell-mell, compliments of Delgado. Into the streets the revolting gladiator-dogs charged, and then the romance of it all was dashed by Delgado telling Chloe that she was on her own. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world,” he advised her. She pled with him not to leave her all alone, and with loathing and dread, the German Shepherd stopped, turned to take a last look at the “little white missy,” and, grumbling to himself, returned to help her. He mentioned a hotel that Chloe remembered having stayed at with her biped “Mom.” It was settled; Delgado would escort her there.

It was a good thing, as the shady operator of the dogfighting facility had commanded El Diablo to get the little white Chihuahua. From this point a secondary chase plot is inaugerated, more or less counterpointing and paralleling the chase effort of Rachel, Pedro, Papi, and the police. Count the weak and brief chase effort of Manuel, the rat, and his iguana pal, pursuing the diamond-necklace/dog-collar once occupying the neck of Chloe, and you can say three.

This episodic film allowed the Disney people to render life in Mexico in a way that is comprehensible to American tourists. However, there is an entirely curious and quazi-”racist” episode with Montezuma, the leader of a tribe of Chihuahuas that called an Aztec ruin, including sacrificial, step-pyramid temple, their “home.” Why the Disney people went this route is not easily understood. Since all the dogs were, for the most part, disguised humans, the Montezuma-led clan’s assertion of a special Chihuahua “soul” which the Chihuahuas of the world must perceive and embrace, saying “No mas” to any forms that profaned this ideal, seemed consistent with some of the blowsy postulations of the Nazis. Or La Raza, for that matter. It jarred with the social “education” afforded Chloe by the stray dogs she had encountered during her adventure in Mexico.

All in all, this is an uneven adventure. If you choose to go, dress accordingly. Cologne/perfume anyone?

Cast Voices: Chloe-Drew Barrymore, Papi-George Lopez, Delgado-Andy Garcia, Manuel-Cheech Marin, Montezuma-Placido Domingo, El Diablo-Edward James Olmos

Cast: Aunt Viv-Jamie Lee Curtis, Rachel-Piper Perabo, Pedro-Axel Alba

All rights reserved. Gobigfoot, 2009

SWEET POTATO OOO-LA-LA!

Today, a mood came over me that required an uncommon culinery approach to my evening meal. My mind became attached to the idea of eating sweet potato, as the center element of my meal. There can be nothing gained by speculating on why this situation manifested itself. I certainly don’t know. Yet, I believe that it is somehow connected to my childhood and my Mom’s cooking. What I saw, smelled or heard that may have touched the dormant stone of memory that centered on sweet potatoes cannot be fingered. Yet, touched my memory was, and I was impelled toward a new culinery adventure. I thought I’d share it with you, as it was quite a success.

In the South the sweet potato is often called a “yam.” However, overwhelmingly what is referenced as “yam” is, in fact, a sweet potato. As a matter of fact the yam family ( Dioscoreaceae) is far removed from the sweet potato family (Convolvulaceae), which is part of the Morning Glory family. Sweet potato is a shorter, blockier vegetable than yam, which may grow several feet in length and around 150 pounds. The skin of a sweet potato is thin and smooth, while a yam is dark, rough and scaley. As a matter of fact the yam on its outside resembles the bark of a tree. However, it has a higher natural sugar content than sweet potato. Hence, I suspect that it has been brewed into an intoxicating drink or porridge on occasion in its long relationship with man.

The fact that sweet potato was often dubbed “yam” in the South indicates the African influence, I believe, as well as that of the early Spanish explorers and colonizers. The yam is native to West Africa and New Guinea, too, it seems. The West African Wolof people called it “nyam” which means “taste,” “eat” or “sample.” The Portuguese termed it “inhamo” and the Spanish “name.” The yam has been dated by modern methods to several thousands of years B.C. However accurate that is, it does clearly mean it is a staple item of food for some people since the origins of cultural groups. That usually means that a certain reverence has been attached to it as a “life sustainer” in difficult times.

Due to the fact that sweet potatoes are tubers, when they were freshly dug from the ground, they must have provoked thoughts of the sweet, starchy nyam amongst African slaves. If the European-derived Southerners referred to these tubers as “sweet potatoes” and the African-derived people referred to them as “yams,” then it is not surprising that these two terms became interchangeable for the same foodstuff, although technically incorrect. Certainly, I grew into adulthood using them in this fashion.

This adventure began at a Harris Teeter supermarket in McLean, Virginia. Looking for inspiration in the Produce department, I found myself nearly overwhelmed by tempting fruits and vegetables. Then, suddenly, across an expanse of counters and shelves, I saw a reddish-orange, ovate “charmer.” It was a sweet potato. I was drawn to it by a strange and strong force of the mind.

In the shelving that contained these potatoes there were several varieties and shapes. However, I was drawn to the more typically shaped potato, as opposed to the elongated ones. As it happened, there was a Produce associate nearby, and we fell into a conversation about “yams.”

Initially, I had “toyed” with the idea of trying to make a potato salad, using yams. Trying to imagine how mayonnaise might work with sweet potato, I was sensing that this might not be a really workable combination. I was fully committed to a sweet/tart experience. This Produce associate suggested that I use creme fraiche rather than mayonnaise. I perceived the merit of this plan and went with it. I thanked him for this suggestion and went forth to buy the ingredients that were coming to my mind as participants in my evening meal.

First, I took possession of a large sweet potato, followed by a small container of Alouette Creme Fraiche. It costs about $7, which is relatively expensive. Then I collected apples, bananas, pears, and two Italian sweet sausages, which were made by Harris Teeter workers and which would be witnesses to my triumph or folly. I paid for my “raw” ingredients and headed home.

Arriving at my culinery laboratory, I set out at once to prepare the sweet potato. Having washed it, I peeled the potato, which was about five inches long and about three inches in diameter at the center. The peeled potato had a light orange color, but if you went a tad deeper, you would encounter a lovely, deeper orange. As there were plenty of things to do, I did not linger over esthetic considerations. I diced the potato into five medallions. I found the raw texture quite firm. Each of these medallions was then cut into four parts, leaving a total of twenty sections.

I then sprinkled to my taste these shards of yam with cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg. As I had sliced the potato into a microwavable container, I sealed the lid and placed the dish into the microwave. I set the device at seven minutes.

As this microwave was cooking the sweet potato, I placed the sausage links into another microwavable container, sliced half an onion and diced two cloves of garlic into the container, sprinkled pepper and Italian seasonings to taste, sealed the container and placed it into a separate, smaller microwave. I set the gauge to four minutes.

Then, reaching for a Gala apple, I quartered it, gutted it,  and peeled it in preparation for its future wedding with the sweet potato. At this point I thought that I might use the whole apple, but at the point of decision, I decide upon only half an apple.

Additionally, I reached for a small box of Sunshine raisins, which I had decided would fit the cuisine being prepared, as well as my taste. This proved to be a fine addition to the finished production.

I had to forego my vision of a Bartlett pear as an ingredient. While it may have worked well in the dish being prepared, the selected pears were just not quite ripe enough. I’m curious how the sweet, golden-ripe pear might work, perhaps using a diced half. Still, there were already plenty of sweet ingredients.

I was called back to the task by the beeping of my microwave. My model is damnably insistent when done with a cycle.

I carefully removed the lid, allowing a bellow of steam to escape. After making a quick scan, I knew I was on the right track. I turned the orange rhomboidal shards and then introduced the raisins, apple rhomboids, and slices of one banana. Replacing the lid, I returned the container to the microwave, set the dial at four minutes, and “fired it up.”

Just about then, I turned to the other microwave to remove the container with the sausages. I carefully opened the lid. Immediately I perceived that a drain-off of “juices” was required. This done with due caution, I turned the links, replaced the lid, and returned it to its microwave. I set the gauge at two minutes or so.

About this time, my “sweet potato ragout” was ready to inspect. Carefully lifting the lid, I rejoiced at the pleasant odor. Additionally, it rested in a very comely fashion. It wasn’t nervous. There was a majesty about it. Yet, the proof of the pudding had yet to be made. I stirred the ingredients gently, allowing the pieces to resituate themselves. I decided that another two minutes in the microwave would suit me, although, in retrospect, I believe I could have successfully proceeded to the next step without the additional two minutes. Here, then, one deals with the issue of texture and personal taste. Do, then, what is good for you.

After the next two minute process, I removed the container reeking with “ooo-la-la” promise. Dash it all! This was going to be good. Yet, I had already succombed to a radical urge: I would sprinkle a modest “dusting” of Cheerios on my sweet potato ragout. Additionally, and radically, I decided to also sprinkle a tablespoon of chocolate-flavored Carb-Fit Shake Mix on the top. I don’t recommend such bold aberration to the novice.

I allowed the dish to sit a minute or two. At this point both my dishes were sitting.

Then I reached for my container of Alouette Creme Fraiche. When I had finished emptying the small container of jello-like cream into the container bearing the sweet potato mix, I commenced to blending it together, as I would any other potato salad. The container of creme fraiche proved to be the perfect size for my mixture. It came together beautifully. Parenthetically, although the Cheerios seemed to dissolve, they did introduce a slight roasted-oat strain. The chocolate mix I had added was insufficient to overwhelm; it could only add a note of curious flavor.

I let the mixture sit a minute.

Then I added the last master-stroke. I added a tablespoon of Smuckers Natural Crunchy Peanut Butter. This large gout of peanut butter was centered. I then let it sit a couple of minutes.

During this time I ate my sausage dish. Very tasty it was.

Now, my appetite “tweaked,” I turned to my wonderful combination of veggie-dessert. The peanut butter proved a smashing addition, and the whole dish a marvel of flavor and texture. I do believe that less cooking time would result in better diversity of texture. As always, stay true to your taste in food. This dish could be a welcome addition to your household. It lends itself well to variation. For me I’ll stick to the key ingredients of sweet potato and creme fraiche, then let my imagination be my guide.

All rights reserved. Gobigfoot, 2009.